Free Take Courage by Phyllis Bentley Page A

Buckingham had been stabbed at Southampton, as he made ready to take some soldiers overseas. The murderer was a fanatic, who thought he was doing his country a service.
    â€œAnd so he was indeed,” concluded Lister in a rapture.
    â€œPraise be to God,” cried Sarah, suddenly appearing from the kitchen with her hands uplifted: “A David has slain the Goliath of the Philistines!”
    â€œAmen, Amen!” sang Lister. “The Lord abhorreth the blood-thirsty and deceitful man.”
    â€œWoman!” cried my father, half rising from his chair in anger: “Murder is against the law of God.”
    â€œAnd a direct contravention of the sixth commandment,” added David.
    â€œIt might be the murderer was an instrument of God for the punishment of wickedness, Mr. Clarkson,” protested Lister.
    â€œGood cannot come of evil,” said my father sternly.
    â€œWhat do you know of the matter, you prating Puritans!” shouted Francis, springing to his feet. “The Duke was a great and noble lord, brave and handsome.”
    His voice quite broke on the last words; I glanced at him quickly, there were tears in his eyes. With a shock of alarm I saw that, as boys will with some great personage, he had made the Duke his hero.
    â€œThe murderer gave himself up and confessed, and the King will demand death by the rack, they say,” went on Lister with relish.
    â€œIt is no more than he deserves,” muttered Francis, turning his face from us.
    I said quickly: “No man deserves the rack.” I did not mean to speak thus, the words were out before I knew I had uttered them.
    My father looked at me with approval.
    â€œYour heart is too gentle, Mistress Penninah,” simpered Lister.
    â€œThe Lord is known to execute judgement,” said Sarah sternly. “Master Francis, do you mean to stay for supper?”
    â€œI must go and tell the news to my father,” muttered Francis sullenly, his eyelids down. (His long golden lashes, sweeping his cheek, were very dear to me.) “By your leave, Mr. Clarkson.” He made for the door; Thunder, who had been lying against Tabby on the hearth, jumped up promptly.
    â€œI can take the news to Holroyd Hall, Master Francis, if you wish not to leave Mistress Penninah,” offered Lister, grinning.
    He meant no harm, the simple lad, but Francis did not wish to be prevented from leaving, and he took the reference to me as an impertinence, from an apprentice; moreover, Lister’s manners were ever rough and homely.
    â€œStand out of my way,” he ordered Lister imperiously, and, as the lad moved but slowly, being awkward in his gait and not very quick in the uptake, as we say in Bradford, Francis gave him a box on the ear which sent him sprawling. Thunder barked and stood over him, and Lister scrambled up looking white and frightened.
    â€œFrancis, Francis!” my father reproved him.
    And my heart too cried: “Francis, Francis!” At my father’s rebuke he turned back, and made careless apologies to Lister, and a loving one to me, but when he had gone I sat down by my father in silence, sadly. I was sad because Francis had struck Lister, for any violence, or cruelty between persons, ever wounded me intolerably. I was sad that my dear love should think a man like the Duke of Buckinghamadmirable; I was sad because he was wrong to do so, and also because I knew he was wrong. It was the first time I ever saw a blemish in Francis. The moment that I saw it, and knew that I still loved him, I grew, I think, though I was yet young, from a girl into a woman.

3
MY FATHER FALLS ILL
    I Comforted Myself with hoping that the death of the Duke might heal the division between the King and his Parliament and thus between Mr. Ferrand and my father, since now the prime mover of their dissensions was gone. But in the event it proved far otherwise, evil, as my father said, never bringing forth good, but the good in an action ever